


Superbat Shorts

by PsychoticPerfection13



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League (2017), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alfred is Done, BRUCE HAS FEELINGS, Clark is so Sweet, Claw Machines Suck, Coffee, Coffee Shops, Creepy guy on the subway, Humor, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Story developing rain, Stranger Danger Clark my God, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, burger date, subway meeting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-05 04:48:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14036499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychoticPerfection13/pseuds/PsychoticPerfection13
Summary: A collection of Superbat drabbles- Fluff, Smut, and Angst.Tags will be added as more shorts are added





	1. Fucking Claw Machines.

**Author's Note:**

> Please take a few minutes out of your day to answer the two polls at the beginning at the story- I’d really appreciate your feedback! <3 
> 
> All my love,
> 
> -Lex
> 
> Enjoy!!
> 
> Feel free to point out any spelling or grammar mistakes!

[://chowt.com/polls/eyJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiIsInR5cCI6IkpXVCJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJlVW5zSjdpOEFyUG15TVZWR21va1hqZ1NJM1llR0NBdTJkNHVCT3Z3ZmdZPSJ9.nDVSOOCMZ5C3gE8Fj70QBBxHrhbmVgxxiEkOtLQF40U](https://chowt.com/polls/eyJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiIsInR5cCI6IkpXVCJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJlVW5zSjdpOEFyUG15TVZWR21va1hqZ1NJM1llR0NBdTJkNHVCT3Z3ZmdZPSJ9.nDVSOOCMZ5C3gE8Fj70QBBxHrhbmVgxxiEkOtLQF40U)

<https://chowt.com/polls/eyJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiIsInR5cCI6IkpXVCJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJRZ0lKYjE3LUsxWTJzMDJlUlhoNU00ZHR5MDVGZTUxejFXNzlyVTVOVm44PSJ9.8NqvmaQxETEFlL1SU85o_mBwiLCUxpq1jfkD4QgXAtw>

~~~~~

It could be a trap, of course. No one knew if Victor Stone was mentally stable, or, at this point, even alive. But Diana was always trusting of people (it was the way you ought to treat everybody until they proved differently) and she believed that she could get through to Victor, one way or another. Maybe he could save himself by saving others.

  
“Looks like you have a date Ms.Prince,” Alfred said behind her, jotting down the address on a piece of paper, ripping it out of his notepad, and handing it to her. “About time someone around here did.”

 

~3 months earlier~

 

“This is your idea of a date? Greasy burgers and,” Bruce shook his cup around and the liquid sloshed over the cup onto the table, making him pull a face, “milkshakes?”

The diner that Clark had pulled them into on their walk around Gotham was nice, but small enough and with not enough security cameras that Bruce was surprised it hasn't gotten robbed or at least blown up. It reminded him of the bar he used to regularly go to in his twenties, with all the pretty waitresses in short skirts that Bruce couldn't ever seem to pay any attention to and the flat screens playing every type of sport imaginable.

“Yours isn’t?” Clark asked skeptically, taking another bite of his burger and tentatively wiping the sauce dribbling down his chin. His eyes were playful.

And Bruce felt a bit overdressed. He thought they were going to be going to that restaurant Cavilet’s downtown, and the socialites down there were all about appearance.

Clark didn’t care. He had worn blue flannel and some light blue jeans that looked like they had been through a hurricane, and he was perfectly content with the fact. Happy, even.

Bruce wished he could be like Clark. The only thing better than being Clark was being with him.

Bruce huffed out a laugh and snatched a fry from Clark’s try, ignoring his dignified “Hey-” and passed it through his lips, biting the end with his front teeth and smirking.

“If you want it, you have to come get it,” Bruce purred in his best Brucie Wayne voice- well, the best he could with an oily, oversized French fry lodged in his mouth.

Clark just laughed and leaned forward, eyes swimming with mirth. Jesus, this man would be the death of Bruce.

Clark advanced on him, effectively trapping him against the booth with his left arm and resting his right hand on his waist, and Bruce couldn’t decide if the skinny bar-like table between was a godsend or a curse.

His dick certainly seemed to think the former.

And Clark was leaning forward, and it was like the most intense game of Chicken he had ever taken part in, who would close their eyes first; Bruce gave in. He always would.

He felt as though he was about to have an anxiety attack, which was impossible, considering the last one was nearly a year ago now and Clark and him had done far worse than kiss before, but he felt as if the walls around him were closing in and he could barely think straight.

Clark felt close, closer, and then there was warm breath puffing against his lips, and God, every time felt like the first-

“Thanks.”

Emptiness, in his- his pocket?

_Did he- did he just take his fucking wallet?_

“Come on.”

Bruce didn’t know exactly when this whole situation went south (scratch that- it went south when his dumbass decided to fall for _Clark Kent_ ) but apparently he wasn’t getting thoroughly kissed by Clark Kent and he voiced his agony in a little whimper that had Clark nearly laughing when he dragged Bruce into him.

He could hardly think straight with Clark’s protective practically enveloping him, but he shook off his dizziness off enough to understand that he had been pulled to a somewhat secluded corner of the restaurant and Clark was inserting a twenty dollar bill into the change machine.

_Twenty dollars!_

“What are you doing?” Bruce asked, trying to sound demanding but failing miserably due to the fact that he was still a bit dazed from Clark being so close to him and that a fry had unexpectedly fell from his mouth.

He not so discreetly kicked it under one of the machines.

“More like what you’re doing,” Clark beamed, taking a stack of one dollar bills and depositing them in Bruce’s hands. “You’re gonna win a bear for me?” Clark- stated, but it sounded more like a question, and he looked kind of unsure. Clark was never good with confrontation, romantic or not, with whoever it was. “Or an elephant. Or something, but this is _everyone’s_ idea of a date, I’m sure. So,” Clark gestured awkwardly to the machine, “get to it. Maybe then you’ll get your kiss.”

So Clark was playing hard to get. Bruce could play hard to get- he had to, especially now, with this game in particular.

If he was talking about Clark or the machine, he wasn’t sure.

He hated claw games. Rigged bastards.

“There,” Clark said, and Bruce saw Clark’s stupidly adorable smile plastered on him like it was damn wallpaper before he saw what he was pointing at. He wanted _that_ one?

“The Superman bear? At-”

“The bottom, yeah. Right underneath the lion and the panda.”

“I hate you,” Bruce growled, smoothing out a bill against the machine and shoving it in none the less.

“You love me. And maybe, if you get it,” Clark said, trailing a finger up Bruce’s arm and smirking when the joystick shook visibly, “you’ll get a bit more than a kiss.”

Well Bruce couldn’t turn _that_ down.

  
~~~

  
A hundred and thirty dollars and a one fuming Bruce later, Clark stifled a giggle as Bruce opened his limo door and threw in a stuffed lion and panda before ducking inside himself and begrudgingly motioning for Clark to join him.

“Clark’s apartment. You know the way.”

Alfred nodded and Bruce had started to close the divider when Clark interjected with, “Change of plans- take us to Wayne Manor please.”

And then he slammed the divider shut.

_And locked it._

“What are you-“

“You know,” Clark drawled, scooting closer to him until he had practically backed him against the car door, “I really do like both the lion and the panda. They’re quite lovely, though they can scarce hold a candle to my very own Batman bear.” He could tell he was trying to be- well, seductive, Bruce assumed, but it was kind of dampened due to the fact that he was blushing a violent shade of pink and his eyes were somehow both helpful and shy.

“Clark-“

Close, so close. Closer.

“I think you deserve a reward. A for,” Clark hooked his pointer finger into Bruce’s tie and gave it a sharp tug, “effort.”

Bruce paused.

“Are you seriously offering to have sex with me in the back of a forty five thousand dollar limo?”

“Is that a no?” Clark asked innocently, glancing up at him with those damn bright blue doe eyes and his optimistic smile that could make even Batman go weak in the knees.

“Hell no,” Bruce all but _growled_ , tugging Clark down on top of him and sliding a hand up his back as Clark’s giggle broke off into a wistful sigh.

~~~

Alfred never understood all the fuss about Justin Bieber, though it just so happened to be quietly playing for the fourth time in a row on the radio behind him. (He quite preferred The Beatles himself.) But, nonetheless, he turned it up until he was sure all of Gotham could hear it in hope of drowning out the stifled laughs and cut off moans behind him.

~~Present~~

  
“Well, hardly a date to most people. More like a debauchery tryst of my back seats.”

Diana smiled. “Clark and Bruce aren’t like most people.”

“So it seems Ms. Prince.”

 

~~~~


	2. More Than Happy to Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let’s just say-
> 
> Bruce is more than happy to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys haven’t taken the survey yet, I’d really appreciate it. :D
> 
> Kind of unedited- if there are any skips or typos, or any (fix)es, just let me know!
> 
> Enjoy this short,
> 
> All my love,
> 
> -Lex

~~~~~

 

It was safe to say that Clark was a little more than surprised when he received a letter from the Daily Planet. Not only was it the most pretentious newspaper company in Metropolis, dare he say all of North America, but they were sending him, _Clark Kent_ , an invitation to cover a story that no one else was willing to step up to. Which was unusual to say the least, considering that there were at least a hundred reporters there that seemed up to cover anything from petty gossip pieces to international news in places as far as Afghanistan.

But he wasn’t exactly one to complain, was he?

So, he went. Considering it was his dream to work there since he was a kid, his mother had tried to understand as much as she could, placing a tin of cookies in the back seat with a doleful smile. But he was still concerned about leaving her home by herself in the empty house that seemed to surround you in silence, loneliness, and solitude, with only the stray, dying cow in the barn to keep her sane.

“I’ll be fine Mom,” Clark laughed somewhat despondently when after five minutes she was still holding on as close-knit as the blanket in the foyer of the house. The last time she had hugged him like this was-

Pa’s death.

“I know you will honey. I just don’t know what I’ll do without you,” she said, pulling back, her smile blanching due to the tears sliding down her face.

Clark tried not to think about that fact as the car screeched down the dirt road, kicking up dust, leaving behind the remnants of the house he had grown up all his life.

+++++

Take the subway, he said. It will be faster he said.

Now, Clark didn’t know exactly who he was, but he assumed he must know his way around due to the fact that he seemed like he had been down there long enough to know how things went around her. He sure looked the picture- a raggedy, bright red hat, a dirt stained coat, smelling faintly of macaroni…

Maybe he should’ve spent more time trying to figure out the map.

And now he was stranded at some unknown station at two in the morning with no discernable way to get to the twenty dollars a night hotel the company was paying for.

But really, was sleeping on the street for the night the worse it could get?

“Hey, boy. You lost?”

Apparently not.

“No, no, just- waiting for the next subway,” Clark gritted, feigning arduously tugging his arm away from the strange looking man whose hand was slowly inching its way down.

“It’s late. How about you,” the hand glided into his jacket and teasing a button on his shirt, “come home with me for the night? It’d be much more fun than standing around here.”

“I’d prefer not to,” Clark grumbled, yanking the hand away and making the crude hand gesture that Ma had scolded other kids for, but never quite explained to him what it meant. 

“Ah, feisty. I like you,” the man sneered, clutching Clark’s waist so harshly that the man kind of look surprised when his skin didn’t give way, but he persisted. “Come on, a pretty little thing like you shouldn't be alone tonight.”

Clark was contemplating whether or not to push him away or break his arm when a voice chimed in, “He’s not, actually.”

The man pulled away abruptly, pulling his hat down over his eyes as a man sauntered out from the shadows that had overcast the corners of the station.

The man was wearing what appeared to be a dark grey two piece suit, far too formal for the seedy station that he appeared to be in. Then again, Clark didn’t know exactly where he was, but it was definitely less pristine than the marble floors in Metropolis Station.

“M-Mr. Wayne-”

“Get out of here,” he growled, and the man hunched in on himself so much he looked as if he was about to fall over and scampered away faster than the horses from the barn that day.

“Uh-um, hi,” Clark said, discreetly attempting to tuck a piece of hair behind his ear and wincing when his glasses bumped awkwardly against the bridge of his nose. “Thanks for that- I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it,” the man said, tilting his head up slightly and looking at him in what Clark was assumed was suspicion. “Who are you anyways? What’s a guy like you doing at the subway station at two in the morning?”

 _A guy like him_?

“I could ask the same thing about you,” Clark said, adjusting his glasses and failing when they almost fell off his nose. “Uh- Clark Kent. Daily Planet. Well- kind of.”

  
“Really,” he said, shaking his hand firmly, a salacious eyebrow raised, “Bruce. If I had known you’d have worked there, I might have showed up more often.

“Oh, uh- well, _kind of_ , I’m- actually on my way there now. I’m a new reporter.”

“Well,” the man laughed heartily, “you’re definitely not going about it the right way. Literally. You’re across the bay, in Gotham.”

Gotham. It was basically, as Lois Lane, his mentor who he had only ever met over the phone would say, Metropolis’ emo twin sister. Granted, he had never been there, but he trusted Lois’ judgement enough that his stomach churned when he realized he was stuck there for the night.

“Not from here?”

“You could say that.”

“Well, I could escort you to your hotel if you’d like,” Bruce offered, graciously or not, Clark couldn't tell, and waggled his eyebrows in such a way that almost made Clark burst out giggling.

“Don’t you have places to be?”

Bruce half scoffed, half chuckled, waving his hand in what Clark assumed to be the direction of his workplace, “A couple meetings, executive decisions, not much.”

“Well, frankly, I have no idea where I am. So- you’re kind of out of luck if you’re trying to take me home.”

Bruce actually seemed offended for a moment.  
,  
“No- that’s not, no. I’m not that kind of guy.” 

“Well, the ferry won’t be running at this hour. And we won’t get you home in this weather.”

”Can I buy you a coffee?”

”Oh- no, I’m fine really-“ 

“Nonsense,” Bruce said dismissively, taking his hand and pulling him along up the stairs and this was a really bad idea but Clark followed anyway because he couldn’t seem to stop.

The gentle patter of rain on Bruce’s coat. Bruce took it off and put it over Clark, shielding from the not-so pelting rain.

“You know, we could use mine if you preferred-“

“Nonsense. Come on, we’re almost there.”

And then Clark was being pulled along, rain striking his face, the blurred, black silhouette of Bruce’s figure, a stranger, bringing him momentary comfort. Cars and trucks whirred quietly past them, spitting up drops, and then a chime rang in his ear and a bright yet warm light near blinding him.

“Welcome! The regular?”

“You know me so well Kate,” Bruce smiled, leading Clark under the rail to the counter. “And a regular black coffee for him,” Bruce said, eyeing him out of the corner of his eye, smiling and then adding, “lots of creamer.”

He was a regular at a hole in the wall coffee shop.

Clark didn’t know why his cheeks heated up at the realization of that.

“You know me so well,” Clark said, attempting to make his tone sound something like disdain and instead coming out strangely genuine. “Thank you.”

“No need,” Bruce said, handing him a cup that probably would’ve burned anyone else’s hand if it wasn’t for- well. “Let’s get the Daily Planet their next big reporter.”

 

+++

 

“So,” Clark drawled, rocking back and forth on his feet, “this is it huh?”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Bruce said, producing a toothpick from inside of his jacket and balancing it between his teeth.

It was all for show. Clark knew now.

Bruce, Wayne, apparently, as he had found out searching him up locked in the stall of the bathroom of a nearby cafe they had stopped, was a mystery. The kind of mystery, like an escape room, that people paid to figure out. And people did, in a way; entry to the parties at Wayne Enterprises, the one day that, Clark had discovered scrolling through nearly billions of articles, he rented the entire shoreline of a beach for a day to throw a party, and the fact that if you even wore the wrong type of earrings or cufflinks you could be denied entry.

And now he was being given the chance to figure him out from scratch.

“Yeah,” Cark beamed, and Bruce seemed taken aback when Clark pulled a notepad out from his jacket, (which was significantly less exorbitant than Bruce’s, Clark had noted earlier) and ripped a portion of the paper off.

“Here.”

“What is this?”

“My number,” Clark said simply, grinning when the toothpick near fell out of Bruce’s mouth.

“It was no trouble, Clark, really-”

“Just take it.”

“Yes, yeah, um- okay,” Bruce said, swiftly extracting the toothpick from his mouth and taking the note with less grace than Clark had seen him use all night. “When should I call you?”

Whenever.

“You’ll know.”

And with that, Clark plucked the toothpick from his hand, Bruce momentarily attempting to retrieve it before Clark slipped it between his teeth, turned around, and closed the door behind him.

And Bruce was left there, mouth hanging open, coat struggling against the wind but feeling as light as a feather.

“Wow.”

 

+++

 

“Finally, you’re here,” Lois said, thrusting a stack of papers into his hands and motioning him to follow her. “You’re late. You best get started on that story if you want it in by the deadline.”

“Um- okay,” Clark said, putting the stack down on where Lois had patted hr desk, “What’s it about anyway? No one else was willing to do it?”

“Oh, you’re in for a surprise,” Lois remarked snarkily, taking a paper from on top of the stack, “you got the wild card.”

“Wild card?”

Lois made some sound that seemed like a choked laugh crossed with a snort. “More like the color change draw four cards from Uno. Check this out,” Lois said, pointedly jabbing at the stack. “You’re in for quite a welcome.”

Clark eyes drifted across the paper, skimming it, and he froze as Lois snickered and comically waved a pen in front of him.

“Get to it.”

Clark waited a beat before saying out loud to no in particular,

“Bruce Wayne?”

 


End file.
